


Unsaid

by roraruu



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Bonding, Edelbert Week (Fire Emblem), F/M, Mid-Canon, idk how to tag this their relationship is just super deep yall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:41:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24620041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roraruu/pseuds/roraruu
Summary: The slightest cues have a million meanings. However, some things are too minute for eyes as scrupulous as Hubert's. and some cues are better left unsaid.A very belated upload for Edelbert week, day 2: white gloves!
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	Unsaid

**Author's Note:**

> this fic's based off a piece by my friend taz. here's the link to the piece before i forget:  
> https://hiimtaz.tumblr.com/post/189269417022#notes

The glint of light in Edelgard’s chamber is soft and dark. Only a small candle burns on her writing desk, the wax dribbling down the side and melting into the metal candelabra. He will replace it later tomorrow, but what concerns Hubert now is how her brow curves and knits and the iron grip on a quill in her hands gloveless hands. 

She needn’t look up to know who stands in the doorway. “Hubert.” She greets evenly, her voice low and calm as always. 

“Your majesty, you still have not taken your meal.” He says. 

“Correct, I have not.”

Cautiously, Hubert treads across the floor, the boards creak and whine as crosses closer to the emperor. Her crimson gloves are neatly discarded on the edge of her desk. Her brow furrows further as her fingers poise on the parchment. 

“Would you care for tea?” Hubert suggests. “If anything, to relax you.”

“No, that isn’t necessary.” 

His lips pull at the edges, becoming a frown. Edelgard’s eyes remain on the papers, marking down plans that they only share and recounting the day’s activities. He knows what this is, her diary of the conquest. She’s never kept it hidden from him, nor has she talked about it. And he has never looked for it, nor spoken of the details that his eyes catch when glimpsing it over her shoulder. 

But there are small things he has come to understand about his mistress over the years they’ve spent together. One, is that while she is adamant on speaking her mind truthfully—or as much as another can handle—she relies heavily on non-verbal cues. It is perhaps something he understands, maybe even Linhardt and Dorothea if they pay incredibly close attention, otherwise Hubert is the only one. 

For example, if she moves her hair gracefully over her shoulder, it means that she grows tired of the conversation and invites him to dismiss the other party. A locked jaw or pursed lip means she’s caught in heavy thoughts while a curved brow can denote confusion, or perhaps intense pondering. Something like a thinned lip or narrowed gaze means she’s evaluating someone or something under her scrupulous, calculating gaze.

However, Hubert is not all knowing or someone higher than she. The one thing he has been unable to understand is something as superficial as her hands. He can understand that the clench of her fists denotes she is angry, or if she loosens the tips of her gloves, it means she is weary. But unlike the lines on her lovely face or the curve of her brow, the uneasiness in her step, there is very little he understands Edelgard’s hands. The same ones who challenge the Kingdom, the Alliance, the church, the Goddess herself… The ones he has held in silent comfort when words fail and flee from his lips, and Hubert is left with nothing to do but hold her gloved hands in his own and ponder what will become of them at the end of this bloody conquest.

Perhaps it is a guard, something to protect herself. He is the minister of the imperial house, her retainer and confidant, but there are some things that are too heavy to tell another. Words that threaten relationships as deep as theirs. And he understands her reasons for keeping these things to herself; there are just some things that are better left unsaid.

Her fingertips graze the diary pages once again before dating and signing the entry at the bottom of the page. Hubert gives her some space, allowing her to finish her thoughts with the same grace and clarity that an emperor should have. He is nothing more than a looming shadow, as he’s always been, with a mouth full of words he longs to say, but never does.

Her ivory hair falls down the sides of her face, framing her like a portrait. She is beautiful and destructive, like a flame in the middle of dry forest. He shifts slightly. “My lady, may I get you anything?”

“I only wish for some quiet, Hubert.” She says softly. Her eyes flit to an empty chair to the left, used to take the professor for private meetings. Another cue, this time for him to sit with her. He rests his hands on the armrests, clutching them tightly. He watches as Edelgard’s eyes glance over a vase of wilting flowers. They were once soft pink and white, with six petals and smelt divine--as always, he brought them into her room when she was away. Her violet eyes focus on them with such a longing gaze, as if staring will bring them back to life.

“My lady, would you care for fresh gladiolus?” he asks quietly. The greenhouse should have something, certainly. Or at least, he hopes… After all, it is his folly that she is now staring so sadly at a vaseful of dead sword lilies.

“That is not necessary.” Edelgard says, her eyes moving from the petals and to him. “You would have to leave.”

“It will only be a moment.” He says, rising from his seat. “And your quarters shall be all the better for it.”

He reaches for the vase, barely touching the sword lilies. Her hand curls around his wrist loosely. He stops reaching for the flowers, his attention on her only eyes. He sees her brow knit a little. “ _ Hubert _ ,” she says slowly and softly. 

Another cue; this time a warning to stay. It is more overt than her other, more subtle cues. Something is wrong.

Gently, he loosens her grip on his wrist and dares to let his fingers slip between hers. She squeezes tight for a moment before turning her gaze to his.

“Hubert,” the emperor says quietly. 

“My lady,”

“I do not want you to leave me right now.” She says. 

“Is that an order, my lady?”

“It is whatever you make of it.” She says, the pad of her thumb rubbing against his glove. “Do you understand why I am gloveless in your presence?”

“I do not.”

“It is an invitation for you to touch me.” She admits. “Tenderly, perhaps.”

An invitation? He’d never seen it as that before. There always seemed to be an invisible shield surrounding Edelgard, something that he, nor anyone else could touch. A guard perhaps, reminiscent of her name. 

“But seeings how you never did it before, I always assumed that you were not able to comfort me in such a way.”

Wrong. He would do whatever he needed. Whatever he could to assist Edelgard. And selfishly, he had thought of reaching for her hand with much different intent than any other time. As if the grasp from his hand, his fingers between hers could equate to the ironclad will and determination she held. Steadfast as he is, he is still a man in love with a woman far from his league; foolish boy. 

Now she is asking, sheepishly and quietly for a shred of comfort, a bit of light along this dark and dour path of death. 

“Do you truly wish it my lady?” He asks. His hands have undertaken so many cruel things, too many. To touch her, would that be a crime? Surely it must be.

“I do Hubert.” She says, a soft and quiet plea for comfort, for  _ something _ . 

He slips off his white gloves, resting them on her desk, not too far from hers. Slowly, he reaches out for her, hesitating for a second. His hand wavers, looking from the back of his skeletal hand--his hands of death--and to the warm flush about Edelgard’s face. He feels her hand close around his, gazing at him with a look so tender, so gentle that he may melt in her presence.

So many things unsaid.

He reaches further, her hand guiding him to cup her face ever so gently. Like one does to wilting flowers that ache and droop sadly. Her face turns red with a flush so furious that it rivals her armour. She pulls herself closer to him, both hands clinging to his own and her forehead gently bumping against his. Her lashes flutter shut lightly, as if this simple action is like the embrace of the Goddess. He watches as her lips hook into the smallest, most tender smile. A true one, not one forced before other nobles or at cotillions or balls or the church officials. The soft silk of her hair brushes against the back of his fingers and the curve of her cheek melts his icy hand like fire.

And between unsaid words and sideways glances, while Hubert longs to hold her closer, he plies himself with how hot his ears feel and thinks of how beautiful Edelgard’s true smile is.

**Author's Note:**

> i fucked up and missed day 2 of edelbert this is a shame. i actually forgot abt this fic until my buddy taz (who btw. did everyday of this week and u should totally check her art out she's legendary) mentioned it to me again and goddamn i'm an idiot lol. as i mentioned before, it was based on some of her artwork which is just. ooooooof its so pretty. her art makes me tneder....  
> anyways, hope yall enjoyed edelbert week! it was a fun one! stay safe out there everyone.  
> as always, thanks for reading n everything y'all do ♥️♥️♥️


End file.
